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“What the hell? She needs to be removed from that home,” I growl into the phone.
Sutton sighs wearily. “She turned eighteen a few months ago, and as an adult, she’s beyond the help of social services. All I can do is counsel her, urge her to stay strong. I’m trying to get her to join one of our support groups, but she’s resisting. ”
“Do you see this a lot?” I ask, not really wanting to know the answer I’m pretty sure is coming.
“Unfortunately, I do. But I see a lot of happy endings too. I’ve been able to help some kids through. ”
I think of my own craptastic childhood with an alcoholic father who abused his son under the guise of teaching him to play hockey. Unfortunately, it wasn’t like anyone could see what was going on. My father’s abuse was varied but well played. He bruised me only where it wouldn’t show, and no one ever saw his brutal drills that went into the early morning hours and had me collapsing from exhaustion and dehydration. No, there was nothing classic that would raise a single teacher’s or coach’s eyebrow when it came to me. In fact, John Crossman put on such an affable attitude around others, no one would believe in a million years he would run his young son into the ground in order to develop him into a machine.
What would I have done if I’d had a resource like Sutton when I was younger? Would I have listened to her advice? Her teachings? Would it have helped to have someone to vent to? To know there was someone who had my back?
I have to think the answer is yes. I think I would have responded well to someone like Sutton, because let’s face it, I’m responding pretty f**king fantastically to her right now.
“I have faith in you,” I tell her. “If anyone can reach her, it’s you. ”
“Yeah? Why so much faith in me?” she teases.
“Because you reached this crusty bastard,” I tell her with a laugh. “You accomplished practically the impossible with me. ”
“You’re such a sweet talker. ”
“Yeah…so not a sweet talker, not normally. I guess you inspire the best in me. ”
She laughs softly into the phone and I want to immerse myself in the sound. I wonder if she laughs like that just with me—that smoky, rich sort of laugh that comes from a true delight deep down inside of a sexy-as-hell woman. It makes me remember something that I had pushed to the back of my mind, but now surfaces again.
“I’m curious,” I tell her, waiting until her laughter dies all the way down. “What ever happened to that date you went on when we first met?”
I’m not sure what I expect her to say. Do I honestly think she’s going to say, I canceled it because I couldn’t think of anyone but you?
Nice thought, but no, that’s not going to happen.
She’s silent a moment before she answers, and I think I might have struck a bad nerve with her. I’m on the verge of telling her to forget I even asked, when she says, “The date was good…it was fine. I even had a second dinner with him, but it’s not going anywhere. ”
My interest is perked. “Why’s that?”
“Because you came along,” she answers me honestly, and I can feel my head swell to epic proportions and f**k, my chest may even be puffing out a little.
She continues on. “His name is Brandon and he was actually my boyfriend in college. We dated for almost four years and he broke up with me right before graduation. ”
Her words are matter-of-fact, no bitterness, no hurt. Yet rage starts to build inside of me on her behalf. “Why the f**k did he do that?”
“Well, according to him, because he wanted to spread his love around a bit before he settled down with me. ”
“Are you serious?” I ask. “He actually told you that?”
“Yeah…I mean, I kind of respected his honesty about it,” she says. “You know…he was painfully honest. ”
Painfully honest.
A term that has been thrown about between Sutton and me numerous times. It’s something she respects, this I know.
“Still had to hurt,” I take a guess.
“Very much,” she says. “But I moved on. He contacted me out of the blue a few weeks ago and wanted to see me again. He’s ready to move forward with our relationship. ”
“So he expected you to just wait around for him?”
“I don’t know what he expected,” she says with a sigh. “But I didn’t wait around. I went on with my life. Dated some but nothing serious. ”
“So what happened on those two dates?” I ask, my curiosity about to kill me, and depending on what Sutton says, I may want to kill this asswipe.
“First date was fine—a lot of catching up. Second date, he made it clear he wanted to get back together. ”
“And what did you want?”
“I wasn’t sure at the time,” she says in a murmur. “I really just wanted to try to be friends first and I was honest with him about it. Painfully so. ”
“Have you gotten any clarity on the matter since then?”
“I believe so,” she says, and I can just imagine the quirk of her lips by the teasing tone in her voice. “Seems some hot hockey player has my attention now. ”
“Yeah? That’s ironic, because I’m sort of lusting after this hot drug counselor I met. ”
“Sounds like a match made in heaven,” she quips.
“I’m thinking it could be,” I agree, my mind turning dark with blistering hot images of what I would do to Sutton when we got around to trying to re-create heaven.
“Seriously, though,” I continue on. “Is this guy still in the picture? Are you still interested in him?” I hold my breath for her answer because this guy could be a major threat. He has history with Sutton.
I have two weeks.
“It doesn’t matter,” Sutton says quickly. “I called him the other night and told him that I didn’t ever see us making it past friends and if he was harboring hope for something more, I needed to let him know that it was probably a waste of time. I told him that I didn’t want him trying to prove me wrong. I told him…”
She drifts off, almost embarrassed to say what I think she’s getting ready to say.
“Told him what?” I urge.
“That I was seeing someone else. That I was very interested in someone else. ”
“And just so I’m clear on the matter, you are talking about me, right?”
She laughs merrily into the phone, causing my smile to flare bright again. “Yes, I was talking about you. ”
“Can I see you after the game Saturday afternoon?” I ask her, completely changing the subject.
“What did you have in mind?” she asks, her voice slightly husky and I know she’s thinking of something slightly indecent.
“Well, I was thinking of taking you and your family out to dinner after the game. Then maybe we could do something…together. ”
“Like what, together?” she presses.
“Hmm. I do have something specific in mind. ”
“Define specific,” she says, her voice light and breathy.
“I think it might involve me putting my hands all over you,” I murmur, and I love the intake of her breath that is loud enough that I can hear it through our phone connection.
She clears her throat. “Anything more specific than that?”
A low laugh bubbles up in my throat. “You’ll just have to wait and see. ”
“I can’t wait,” she sighs with a bit of frustration that has my man card elevating from gold to platinum status.
We talk for a bit more, a little of this and a little of that. We find we have a mutual love of B-rated horror movies and fried dill pickles. We are widely divergent in our musical tastes— she’s all hearts and sweet pop and I’m heavy metal and grunge. It is an easy agreement we make that whoever’s car we are driving in gets to pick the music. Which implies that we will be riding in each other’s cars in the future, and probably on more than one occasion.
I’m not exa
ctly sure what is happening here, but I suppose an outsider would say I’m developing a relationship with someone.
My first.
Sadly, my only, and I hope I don’t screw it up.
Chapter 14
Sutton
“You seriously want to take the boys out with us?” I ask Alex for what I think may be the third time.
“It’s a little too late to change my mind,” he says, looking in the rearview mirror of his Suburban to check on Glenn and his two friends in the backseat. “I’ve already invited them. I’m pretty sure they’d riot if I canceled. ”
Looking over my left shoulder, I can’t help but grin at Glenn and his two neighborhood buddies, Mickey and Tyrone. Glenn is sitting in the middle, wearing the Cold Fury jersey that Alex gave him. They are all three looking at the game programs they got when we arrived at the arena earlier this afternoon to watch Alex play. Alex had given me four tickets and the original idea had been to bring Glenn, Mom and Jim-Dad. However, my parents backed out the minute they realized Glenn would be happier bringing two of his friends, a move that was sure to earn him cool points and bump up his street cred—especially since the tickets were given to him by Alex Crossman himself. Alex suggested that the boys and I take a cab to the game and he would shuttle us around after, an offer I was all too happy to take him up on—and Glenn and his buddies weren’t complaining either.
Glenn glances up and catches me looking at him with what must be a dopey look on my face, because he shoots me back a toothy grin and actually winks at me. Rolling my eyes, I turn around and face forward.
Turning slightly in my seat to face Alex, I take in the surety with which he is driving the huge SUV, his left wrist casually resting across the top of the steering wheel while he leans his elbow on the center console between us. His profile is as stunning as his front view—it’s a view that I don’t ever tire of looking at.
“It was really nice to invite the kids. I hope it didn’t mess up whatever it was you had planned,” I tell him, turning back to look out the window. We had originally made plans to get something to eat with him after the game, but as soon as we were done eating, I figured we’d bring the kids back to Mom and Jim-Dad’s house because Alex had teased me with the prospect of putting his hands all over me. Instead, Alex had leaned across the table and said, “You guys want to hang out with me and Sutton the rest of the day?”
And of course, the boys screamed in excitement that they did.
Yeah, that was the sweetest thing ever and all I could think was, Just great. How can he put his hands all over me with three kids tagging along?
“It was no biggie. Didn’t change my plans any. ”
My head snaps over to his and he doesn’t miss my sudden movement. He glances at me, eyebrows raised in innocence and lips pursed in amusement.
“Where are we going?” I ask with unbearable curiosity. Where is he taking us that the kids can tag along and he can have his way with me? I must admit the suspense is killing me.
He doesn’t answer but turns on his blinker as he slows to make a right-hand turn into the parking lot of the Cold Fury’s practice rink. I had learned during our first lunch date after I watched Alex’s practice session that this is actually a privately owned rink that is open all week for a variety of ice-related activities such as recreational league hockey and figure skating. Alex told me that it closes only when the Cold Fury need it to practice, although most often they practice in the team’s arena.
The parking lot is only about half full and the boys are bouncing in excitement when they see where we are.
“This is where you practice, right?” Mickey asks.
“Sometimes,” Alex says as he opens the car door and I follow suit. Once we are all standing in front of Alex’s SUV, he asks, “Okay, everyone here know how to ice-skate?”